


Ipso Facto

by superstringtheory



Series: Law School AU [3]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Caretaking, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Jughead Jones, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-01-04 16:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21200570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superstringtheory/pseuds/superstringtheory
Summary: Jughead's a first year associate. It's kicking his ass.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ipso facto- by the fact itself; an inevitable result.

Betty’s halfheartedly reading through some headnotes for a case when her office phone rings. 

“Judge Blossom’s office,” she says, even though she already knows who it is. Jughead’s told her before that he loves hearing her “work phone voice;” that it’s cute to picture her all gussied up in her pencil skirts doing legal research. 

Sure enough, Jughead’s voice comes through the phone. 

“Is it too late to join a band or work at a bookstore or something? I could bartend. I could fold khakis at the Gap.” 

“Wasn’t the Gap going bankrupt?” 

“Ugh.” There’s a rustling sound on the other end of the line, like Jughead’s frustratedly running his hand through his hair. 

“I know, babe,” Betty says, and it’s moments like these that she’s grateful for the old-fashioned landline in her judicial clerk office because she can twirl the phone cord around her fingers and feel closer to Jughead. “But it’s just for a year. You can do it for a year.” 

“Can I, though?” 

Betty pauses, giving Jughead space.

Sure enough, then he sighs and says, “You’re right. You’re right. It’s just to pay off my loans and then I’ll be done. Then I can come back and work at the public defender’s office.” 

Betty smiles. “Jug, I don’t know how many people’s idea of relaxing is with a PD job, but I’m glad you’ve got your goals. It’ll all work out. I’ll be done with my clerkship then and maybe I’ll work at the PD with you.” 

“Just don’t do Biglaw,” Jughead says with a little groan. “Ugh. I’m sorry, Betts, I have to go. I hope you have a good rest of your day. I love you.” 

“I love you, too, Juggie,” Betty says, and hangs up. She drums her fingers on the desk a bit and then fires up Westlaw Edge again to do some research she’s been neglecting. 

Two hours later, Betty’s ready for a break. She creeps on down to the break room and pours herself a cup of coffee. She’s adding a little bit of cream and sugar when her intern appears in the doorway. 

“Betty!” 

Betty almost drops her coffee mug, startled. 

“Oh, hey, Jellybean,” she says. “I, uh, didn’t know you were there.” 

“You’re so fun,” Jellybean says, now coming over to Betty. “Mmm, is that hazelnut coffee?” 

“Flavored creamer,” Betty says. “You can have some if you like. I keep it in the fridge.” 

“You’re so generous,” Jellybean says, and beams at Betty. Jeez. Before meeting her irrepressibly enthusiastic intern, Betty didn’t know that it was possible to wish for someone to hate you rather than love you. 

Honestly, Jellybean is great. She’s an excellent intern- she does precise research, is good at Bluebooking citations, and is always on time (usually early, in fact). She’s just so…  _ Jellybean _ . They’d had to have an awkward conversation about her given name on her first day and Betty’s still a little embarrassed about it. Her boyfriend’s name is  _ Jughead _ , after all, but she just had to ask. 

“Yup,” Jellybean had chirped. “It’s my real name. I could go by J.B., but I like people to know who they’re dealing with. This way there’s no confusion.” 

Privately, Betty had thought that there would never be any risk of confusion- Jellybean is a whirlwind of Type A, front-row gunner packaged in vintage clothing. Today, she’s wearing her hair in a little swoop with a silk scarf tied around it in a jaunty knot. It matches the 1950s dress she’s wearing, which is navy blue Swiss dot patterned. Jellybean has some serious thrifting skills, Betty has to admit. 

Plus, Jellybean absolutely  _ adores _ Betty; has from Day One. 

“Okay,” Jellybean says now, taking a sip of her own doctored coffee. “You were so right about this creamer, Betty. It’s divine.” 

“Anytime, Jellybean,” Betty says. “Now I have to get back to my research. I’ll send you an email with some things I want you to look up, okay?” 

“Okay!” Jellybean looks thrilled at the prospect of (what is likely to be) incredibly boring statutory research, and Betty can’t help smiling at her. 

Once she’s back in her office, Betty texts Jughead. 

**Betty Cooper:** _another run-in with the famous JB. She looks like Rosie the Riveter today. It’s cute _

Jughead responds almost immediately, which is rare these days. Normally, he calls Betty over his lunch hour to have a quick chat. More often than not lately, these chats have been more akin to mini therapy sessions. Biglaw has been chewing him up but it won’t be spitting him out anytime soon. The partner Jughead is working for is some sort of sadist for work and keeps Jughead at the office until all hours of the night and often on the weekends, too. 

**Jughead Jones:** _aww. She’s such a sweet little gunner _

**Betty Cooper:** _as if you weren’t a gunner too _

**Jughead Jones:** _my how the tables turn_

Then his typing dots appear for a long moment, stop, then appear again. 

**Jughead Jones:** _ugh. Sorry. Have to go again. Talk later _

Betty doesn’t hear from him again until she’s been home for over an hour. 

**Jughead Jones:** _so sorry I’ve been MIA, my love. It’s been a long day. _

**Betty Cooper:** _want to talk about it?_

**Jughead Jones:** _not particularly_

Betty bites her lip, thinking what to say to this, when another message from her boyfriend pops up. 

**Jughead Jones:** _ I’m sorry, just really tired tonight. I’m going to hit the hay early. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? I love you. _

**Betty Cooper:** _Love you, too, Jug. <3_

*** 

This isn’t the first time this has happened-- far from it. It still makes Betty’s heart pang a little when she can’t talk to Jughead at night, but she knows that it’s just part of what this is. They knew that this was how it was going to be for this year- that Jughead turning down the PD job and accepting the Biglaw offer would mean that he’d get to pay off his loans quickly but also pay for them in free time, and dearly. 

Luckily, they have a visit coming up this weekend-- their first in almost a month. Jughead’s flying in from Chicago and Betty and Hot Dog will be here waiting for him. 

Speaking of Hot Dog, Betty realizes that it’s probably time to take him out again. The old dog’s bladder isn’t what it used to be, and that’s a big part of why he stayed here with Betty rather than moving to the city with Jughead. It was just easier all around for Betty to take over Jughead’s lease and apartment and for Jughead to rent a cheap (well, cheap in Chicago terms) studio for himself since he’d barely be there anyway. 

It’s late October and getting chilly, especially at night, so Betty threads Hot Dog’s short little limbs into the candy-corn themed sweater she’d gotten him at Target recently. He gives her an unimpressed look when she pulls back to survey him, but wags his tail happily when she tells him how cute he looks and gives him a little head scratch. 

Once they’re back inside, Betty and Hot Dog curl up on the couch and catch up on some back episodes of  _ Schitt’s Creek _ . Betty had started out waiting to watch with Jughead, but he’d recently given her the green light to just keep going without him. 

“I’ll catch up after my year in hell is over,” he’d said. “I don’t want to deprive you.” 

After a few episodes and then a YouTube wormhole of mini-documentaries, Betty decides that it’s time for her to go to bed, too. She wants to be well-rested for her weekend with Jughead. It’s currently Thursday night, which means that he’ll be coming in late tomorrow night- a little over 24 hours from now. Betty can hardly wait. 

Even though she knows he’s probably asleep, Betty still texts Jughead goodnight out of habit. 

**Betty Cooper:** _ I’ll be there to pick you up tomorrow afternoon. Can’t wait. <3  _

*** 

The next morning, Betty pulls on tights and then puts on her favorite skirt and sweater. She’s always loved cool weather and has been excited to get her fall clothes out again in the past few weeks. She’s sure that Jughead will be grateful to wear something that’s not a suit this weekend- she often teases him about how he only ever wants to wear the same pair of navy blue windpants when he’s not in the office but she supposes she doesn’t blame him. 

Judge Blossom is pretty cool, all things considered, and Betty considers herself extremely lucky to be clerking for her. She’s a whip-smart redhead who doesn’t take any shit, either in or out of the courtroom, and she doesn’t care if Betty dresses business casual (or even casual) when she doesn’t have to be in court. 

They didn’t have a trial this week, so Betty and Jellybean have been preparing memos for Judge Blossom for the next few weeks’ dockets. 

Betty’s just putting the finishing touches on a section about preemption when her phone lights up with a text from Jughead, then another in rapid succession. 

**Jughead Jones: ** _ some good news and some bad news, Betts _

**Jughead Jones:** _Do you have time for a quick phone call? Might be faster_

Betty immediately calls him, and although Jughead picks up right away, it takes him a moment to say anything. That’s because he’s clearing his throat, what sounds like painfully. 

“Jughead…” Betty starts, and he cuts her off once he’s gained his voice. 

“Ugh. Sorry. I was saying”-- and here he again keeps going despite Betty trying to say something-- “just hang on, Betts, let me say it. I was saying, there’s some bad news. But there’s also some mitigating factors. Excuse me.” 

This time, he stops to sneeze and Betty blesses him, then lets him continue, having learned over the years of being Jughead’s girlfriend that it’s easier to just let him soliloquize. 

“First, you don’t have to leave work early to pick me up, since I now have to work late and take a later flight, and second, you get to take care of me all weekend because I seem to have come down with the plague overnight.” He coughs harshly then, and Betty makes a sympathetic humming sound. 

“Jug,” she says. “Mitigating factors are for felonies, not boyfriend visits. But you know that from getting the CALI award in Crim Law. And you know that I don’t mind taking care of you, and I also didn’t mind leaving work early.” 

“You could still leave work early,” Jughead points out. “No one has to know that I’m on a later flight.” 

“True,” Betty muses. “I think I will do that. It  _ is _ Friday, and if you’re as sick as you sound, I’ll probably need some supplies.” 

“You’re the best, Ace,” Jughead tells her, then coughs again before continuing, a little ruefully. “Feels like you’re always having to take care of me.” 

“A little,” Betty agrees. “But I think it’s been worth it, don’t you?” 

It’s true. They essentially got together over Betty nursemaiding Jughead before an exam in law school. Jughead claims he’d just been biding his time to ask Betty out, but Betty’s still secretly grateful for the virus. 

“Ugh,” Jughead says. “My throat is killing me and I have to meet with the partner today. Just kill me now. My billables are down this week.” He sniffles, miserably, and Betty can’t wait to get him home and bundled in a blanket with some hot tea. He’s right in that he always seems to be doing this- running himself into the ground until an illness forces him to slow down a little. 

“It’ll be okay,” she soothes. “You’ll be home with me and Hot Dog tonight, okay? We’ll get you all fixed up.” 

Jughead sniffles. “You’re right. How bad can this meeting be, anyway?” 

*** 


	2. Chapter 2

“It was bad, Betty,” Jughead rasps as he sinks back into the passenger seat of her late 00s-model Honda CR-V (christened “Hondaleeza Rice,” because why not?). “So bad.” 

Betty buckles her seatbelt and looks at him with concern. “Jug, you sound so much worse than you did this morning.” She tsks. “Do you feel a lot worse?” 

Jughead shrugs. “Depends. Define ‘worse.’” 

Betty rolls her eyes as she navigates the car out of the parking ramp. “Never mind. I should know better than to ask a lawyer. We’ll let the thermometer decide once we get home.” 

Back in the apartment, Jughead’s suit jacket thrown unceremoniously on the floor, the thermometer blinks a solid  **102.5** degrees, and Betty sighs. 

“You never do anything halfway, do you?” she says, but the question is said with love (even if it is rhetorical). 

“Not worth doing otherwise,” Jughead says, and sniffles grandly, dragging the cuff of his dress shirt under his nose. “Ugh. I’m sorry, Betty.” Congestion mutes all of his normally crisp consonants and he looks pathetic in a really adorable way. 

“Don’t be sorry that your immune system finally caved after weeks of eighty-hour workweeks,” Betty replies. “That was just inevitable. Let’s be sorry that the system forces you to do this. And that your personality is such that you never stop moving until you collapse.” She leans over to press a kiss to his warm forehead. “Not that I’d have you any other way.” 

Jughead flushes, his cheeks getting even rosier. 

“Now let’s get you out of those work clothes and into those windpants,” Betty says. “I’m sure a nice shower will help you feel better.” 

Jughead laughs, raspily. “I thought you hated those windpants.” 

“I do,” Betty says matter-of-factly. “But I also love you. So come on.” 

*** 

Once he’s freshly showered and sitting all damp-haired and pink-cheeked on the couch, Betty doses Jughead up with cold medicine and smiles as he quickly falls asleep on her shoulder. The stiff neck tomorrow morning will be worth it. 

Betty lets Jughead nap for a while and then shifts until he wakes up, looking tousled and a little confused. 

“Hey,” she whispers. “I think it’s time to go to bed.” 

“Ugh, sorry,” Jughead says yet again, and Betty shushes him. 

“None of that,” she says. “Let’s just go snuggle. I’ll take Hot Dog out while you get situated.” She watches fondly as Jughead pads off towards the bedroom, and then calls to the old dog to come get his leash on. 

When they get back in, Betty finds Jughead already tucked into his side of the bed, blinking at her with heavy eyes. 

“Hey, handsome,” Betty says, coming over to the bed and sliding in next to him. She’s glad that she’d taken the time to change into her own pajamas while Jughead was in the shower. 

“Hey,” Jughead says. It’s faint, like he has almost no voice left, and Betty scooches up in the bed so that she can rest her head on his chest. Jughead coughs a little and then settles back down. 

“I love you,” he whispers, and pretty soon after that, he’s asleep.

***

The next morning, Betty rolls over to find the other side of the bed empty. She checks her phone and sees that it’s 8:30 a.m.-- later than she normally sleeps on the weekend, but not preposterously so. She’s concerned that Jughead isn’t still in bed, though- his side of the bed isn’t even warm. 

Betty gets up and leaves the bedroom to investigate. The sound of thick, throaty coughs lead her to her boyfriend, who is hunched over his laptop on the couch. He looks simultaneously pale and flushed; an oxymoron. Emphasis on the  _ moron _ . 

Betty comes up to the couch and snaps the laptop shut. 

“Hey,” Jughead protests. “I was working on that.” He sniffles, and then coughs again into the collar of his shirt.

“Here’s a wild idea,” Betty says. “How about you get your sick ass back to bed? What on earth were you doing?” Judging by the empty coffee mug on the side table, Jughead’s been up for a while. 

“Working.” Jughead’s tone is petulant. 

“I see.” Betty pauses. “And what about having a weekend to relax? You already work every other weekend, Jug. It’s not worth making yourself sicker.” 

Jughead sniffles into the sleeve of his henley top. “I just wanted to finish this one thing up and then I can rest.” 

“I know,” Betty says. She sits next to him on the couch and scoots over until their hips are touching, then uses the back of her hand to feel his forehead. “But you have a fever, Juggie. And there will always be another ‘just one more thing,’ if I know you. Just rest and let me take care of you this weekend, okay?” 

Betty can feel it- the moment Jughead finally allows himself to relax. He slumps back against the couch cushions. 

“... Fine.” 

*** 

It’s true: Jughead’s not entirely well by the time Betty has to take him back to the airport. It’s all too soon, because the weekend is only so long, no matter how much Betty wants to stretch it out like boardwalk taffy, sweet and lingering. 

Still, even though Jughead is sick, it’s one of the best weekends they’ve ever had. Too often, Jughead’s weekend visits seem like whirlwind marathons to jam as many local, seasonal activities into two or three days as possible, and they’re both exhausted by Monday morning when they’re back at their respective jobs. 

This weekend- by necessity- they laze around the apartment in the bed and on the couch, and the most Jughead has to move is to get the door when the EatStreet guy arrives. Betty makes him endless mugs of tea and watches him like a hawk until he drains each and every cup. Hot Dog falls asleep with his head in Jughead’s lap, and later on, Jughead falls asleep with his head in Betty’s. 

It isn’t a perfect weekend--Jughead’s sick, and there isn’t enough time before he has to leave again, and Betty trips and spills soup on the carpet-- but it’s pretty close. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some vague plans for more angst but I got a sore throat over the weekend and craved some good ol' fashioned classic h/c, so I'll save the angst for next time. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve only worked in academia so here end my personal legal anecdotes. All of the stuff about Betty’s clerking and Jughead’s law firm experiences come from stories my husband told me about when he clerked for a federal judge and then worked at a horrible law firm. Good news, though: now he works from home and wears the same blue windpants almost every day. 
> 
> Find me on [](superstringtheory.tumblr.com). I'm trash for sickfic.


End file.
